People were disappointed with Mlanjeni’s prophecies. None of them were coming true. The Imperial bullets did not turn into water. Instead, amaXhosa men were being killed every day.
But when the amaXhosa were about to give up, the Khoikhoi kept them fighting. At least they had muskets, although they were running out of ammunition. General Maqoma and Chief Brander destroyed more than two hundred farmhouses and captured five thousand cattle from the colonists.
Khoikhoi women sold their bodies to the British soldiers in order to smuggle canisters of gunpowder to their fighting men. Twin and his friends made snide remarks behind these women’s backs. They slept with British soldiers, the men remarked. They seemed to forget that it was for the gunpowder that was saving the amaXhosa nation from utter defeat that the women were prostituting themselves.
It was with one of these Khoikhoi women, Quxu, that Twin fell in love. The amaXhosa guerrillas called her Qukezwa. He had seen her leading a group of Khoikhoi women who smuggled gunpowder under their hide skirts, and heard that she was the daughter of an important Khoikhoi chief.
The next time Twin saw Qukezwa it was at the crossroads. She was standing in front of a pile of stones, oblivious of him. She added another stone to the pile, and carefully placed green herbs on top of it. All the while she was chanting softly, “Father of fathers, oh Tsiqwa! You are our father. Let the clouds burst and the streams flow. Please give life to our flocks, and to us. I am weak, oh Tsiqwa, from thirst and hunger! Give me fields of fruit, that your children may be fed. For you are the father of fathers. O Tsiqwa! Let us sing your praises. In return give us your blessings. Father of fathers! You are our Lord, O Tsiqwa!”
She then quietly walked away. She seemed to remember something, and went back to the pile of stones.
“And, O Tsiqwa,” she pleaded, “give us strength to win this war! To drive those who have come to desecrate our sacred grounds into the sea!”
Twin was struck with wonder.
“Who is this Tsiqwa you are addressing?” he asked softly. “I do not see anyone.”
She was startled. But then composed herself when she saw a smiling umXhosa soldier standing in front of her.
“Tsiqwa is the one who tells his stories in heaven. He created the Khoikhoi and all the world. Even the rocks that lie under water on the riverbed. And all the springs with their snakes that live in them. That is why we never kill the snake of the spring. If we did, the spring would dry out.”
Twin was captivated by her wisdom. He did not let on that her words were beyond him, and she felt at ease in his presence. Soon they were chatting like old friends. And in the days that followed he made a point of speaking with her whenever she brought smuggled gunpowder to the caves where the guerrilla fighters were hiding. He was in love. He ignored the mocking laughter of his comrades-in-arms who called her a whore.
From this daughter of joy he learned more about Tsiqwa. Together they sang the song of Heitsi Eibib, the earliest prophet of the Khoikhoi. The song told the story of how Heitsi Eibib brought his people to the Great River. But they could not cross, for the river was overflowing. And the people said to Heitsi Eibib, “Our enemies are upon us, they will surely kill us.”
Heitsi Eibib prayed, “O Tsiqwa! Father of fathers. Open yourself that I may pass through, and close yourself afterwards.”
As soon as he had uttered these words the Great River opened, and his people crossed. But when the enemies tried to pass through the opening, when they were right in the middle, the Great River closed upon them, and they all perished in its waters.
Whenever they sang this song, Twin wished the same thing could happen to the British.
Sometimes Qukezwa took her beau to the crossroads where there were piles of stones. At different crossroads there were different piles of stones. The lovers added one more stone each time they visited. They also placed green twigs of aromatic herbs such as buchu on the stones. She explained, “To place a stone on this grave of Heitsi Eibib is to be one with the source of your soul.”
“How can one man have so many graves?” Twin asked.
“Because he was a prophet and a savior,” she said. “He was the son of Tsiqwa. He lived and died for all the Khoikhoi, irrespective of clan.”
Twin was sad that no one had ever died for the amaXhosa people in the same way that Heitsi Eibib had died for the Khoikhoi.
At night she taught him about the stars. Up in the heavens where Tsiqwa told his stories she showed him the bright stars which she called the Seven Sisters.
“They are the seven daughters of Tsiqwa, the Creator. The Seven Sisters are the star mothers from which all the human race has descended,” she explained.
There was no doubt in Twin’s mind that he wanted to marry this daughter of the stars. Twin-Twin tried to talk him out of it. He reminded his brother that there were amaXhosa maidens who had never opened their thighs for British soldiers. “What do you see in this lawukazi?” he cried.
But Twin was immovable in his resolve to marry Qukezwa.
“At least wait until the war is over,” pleaded Twin-Twin. He hoped that time would cure his brother’s infatuation.
But Twin would not wait. He married her. And for him she danced the dance of the new rain. And of the new moon.
In the meantime, the war was raging. And Sir George Cathcart would stop at nothing to win it. If he could not defeat the amaXhosa people in the field of battle, he was going to starve them into submission. He ordered his soldiers to go on a rampage and burn amaXhosa fields and kill amaXhosa cattle wherever they came across them, instead of spending their time hunting down guerrillas in the crevices of the Amathole Mountains. When the troops found unarmed women working in the fields, they killed them too.
The great fear of starvation finally defeated General Maqoma’s forces, and the amaXhosa surrendered to the British. They turned against Mlanjeni, the Man of the River, because his charms had failed. But other nations continued to believe in him. Messengers from the distant nations of the Basotho, the abaThembu, the amaMpondo and the amaMpondomise visited him, asking for war charms and for the great secret of catching witches.
Six months after the war ended, the great prophet died of tuberculosis.
Although the twins’ wealth remained intact — they had hidden most of their herds in the Amathole Mountains — they were disillusioned with prophets. They were devastated by the death of their father, who had ended up as stew in a British pot.
Mlanjeni’s war, however, had given Twin a beautiful yellow-colored wife, and Twin-Twin the scars of history.
2
She starts another hymn. The old ladies pick it up in their tired voices, some of which have become hoarse. They have been singing for the greater part of the night. Her voice remains hauntingly fresh. It is a freshness that cries to be echoed by the green hills, towering cliffs, and deep gullies of a folktale dreamland, instead of being wasted on a dead man in a tattered tent on top of a twenty-story building in Hillbrow, Johannesburg.
She is now singing “Nearer My God to Thee.” She is nearer to God. The distance from the havoc, murder, and mayhem in the streets down below attests to that fact.